The Struggle Within
by darkaccalia520
Summary: Written for Cheile's Silence Challenge at The Reviews Lounge, Too, Margaret has an introspective look at herself and her relationship with Peter Quint. *COMPLETE*


**A/N: Since the film didn't do a very good job at it, I wanted to explore Margaret's character more. A bit of setup for the story is that this is set after the 'such shame/want of you' scene.**

**Also written for Cheile's Silence Challenge at The Reviews Lounge, Too: _Write a fic with zero spoken dialogue._**

****Disclamer: The Nightcomers and its characters are not my creation. They are the original creation of Henry James and interpreted for the 1971 film by Michael Winner. This work of fanfiction is for entertainment purposes only and is not for financial gain. I am just borrowing the characters for a bit and promise to return them unharmed and in their original condition, maybe just a bit happier.****

**The Struggle Within**

Peter Quint left her room without speaking another word, and Margaret was relieved to be alone once again. But she couldn't sleep yet, the vileness of what had just transpired permeating every fragment of her being. She felt the desperate need to scrub herself clean, but she had to resist the urge to run, so as not to wake Mrs. Grose.

She had to creep slowly on tiptoe, first past Mrs. Grose's room and then that of Flora and Miles until she finally reached her destination. She held her breath as she shut the door, fearing the loud click would cause someone to stir and finally let it out when she realized it hadn't.

She stripped off her white nightdress and couldn't help but let out an unladylike snort at the irony of the color now. White was the color of purity, of innocence...of _cleanliness_. And she was far from any of those things now. Her skin crawled with the grime of sin, of all the horrid, unspeakable things she had allowed Quint to do to her. _What she had done with him. _

A shudder surged through her at the memory of it as she took the wet bar of soap and began scrubbing it across her skin furiously, determined to rid her body of the gritty sensation. When she felt it sufficient enough, she rinsed off, hoping to purge her skin of its offensive feeling. Yet the moment she moved, her skin still crawled, the rasping ache wedged deep within its layers that no amount of scrubbing could relieve.

Still, she made one more hollow attempt, hoping to rid herself of the guilt and the pain. As she ran the soap across her skin, she noticed the bruises that dotted her inner thighs. _Quint's hand prints. _She also saw the faint lines that wrapped around her wrists and ankles, the sting of the ropes that bound her tightly still fresh and the shame of it all making her want to hide from the world again.

She quickly dried off and hid all evidence of her washing at such an odd hour. Then she redressed, being sure to fasten every button of her nightdress, the small bit of silk numbing the memory ever so slightly. Taking another deep breath, she quietly made her way back to her room, hoping to still find it empty, since she never knew when he'd be back for more.

And the thought repulsed her and excited her all at once...and she hated herself for it. Never in a million years had she imagined she'd ever have any sort of relationship outside of a professional one with Peter Quint. She was the governess while he was the grounds keeper, and there was absolutely no reason she'd need to see him nor any reason he'd need to see her. But the children loved him and therefore, she found herself in his presence very often, and she found herself enamored by him and his charms. And it wasn't long after she'd found herself purposely seeking him out, even when the children weren't with him.

Oh, she'd made it all look so innocent at first, only meaning to say hello and then be on her way, but Quint would always have some sort of story to tell, would always find a way to keep her at his side. And it was then that she'd realized he knew she'd wanted more. And so had he.

Yet the idea of him had disgusted her. On the social hierarchy, he was barely above a common street rat, and she was an upper middle class lady. She'd barely wanted to be seen with him, let alone much else. But when the sun had gone down, he'd taken her hand, leading her into his dark and sexually malicious world.

And she'd given herself willingly, throwing all caution to the wind. Though the Bible said it was wrong, she couldn't help but sin with him over and over again. The ghost of a smile graced her lips at the thought of him and the irony of it now. She'd only just told Miles that afternoon that the good and gentle go to Heaven and the bad go and stay with the devil.

What did that mean for her? Deep down, she knew the answer. She was nothing but a hypocrite; Quint had said so himself, and she'd agreed. She knew love was just as painful as being born or dying, but she'd wanted it to be gentle. But the pain coupled with the euphoric pleasure he gave her was something she couldn't resist, no matter how dirty and ashamed it made her feel. Because she loved him. And the truth was she'd do anything he'd asked her to because she couldn't bear to be without him. She'd rather feel the pain of love than have to live with the pain of losing him, even if that meant that the closer she got to him, the closer it would bring her to Hell.


End file.
